The Secret Life of Lucius Malfoy
by insertcleverandwittytitlehere
Summary: Draco Malfoy has spent years trying to distance himself for the sins of his father. But after Lucius's death, the past comes whirling back at breakneck speed.


**A/N:** This is the Captain of the Chudley Cannons checking in for Round 8 of Season 6 of the QLFC.

 **Prompt:** Theme - finding out your loved one/partner/family hid something major from you and left you with that something (debt/a child/a cursed object etc) and what you do about it.

 **Word count (before A/N):** 1,842 words

 **I am not JK. This is her world.**

Lucius Malfoy was not a good person. He believed in the eradication of what he called Mudbloods. He believed in a superior race of wizard, with blood so pure it could be traced back to the very birth of magic itself.

These were his fundamental values. The Dark Lord didn't have to sway Lucius much when it came to his war; in fact, the first time around, Lucius was more than willing to do Voldemort's bidding on principle alone. It wasn't until the second time around, when Lucius had truly fallen from social grace, that a crack started to chisel its way into what he believed were firm ideals.

He blamed Draco. And for this reason, he forbade his only son and heir from ever entering into his study.

This wasn't hard, at first. Draco rarely chose to see Lucius, let alone speak with him. The young Malfoy thought his poor excuse of a father went into his personal study to sulk and drink away the day. And the night.

It was later, when noises started coming from the room, Draco's interest was sparked. He could still recall one night near the Christmas holiday, when a loud clanging sounded throughout the Manor.

Astoria shook Draco awake, her green eyes wide in the dark. Moments later, Scorpius came running into his parents' guest room. He was younger then, maybe in his second year at Hogwarts, and he insisted that he stay with his mum and protect her while Draco went to investigate.

Halfway down the stairs, Draco bumped into his mother. Narcissa was wrapped in a floor-length silk nightgown, her hair long and crinkly down her back. She leant over the banister, her boney fingers holding onto the wooden beams for support as she craned her neck to peer at the floor below.

"He's still up," she had whispered, not even turning to look at her son. Draco quickly matched his mother's position, his own eyes catching sight of his father's study door sealed tight. A light glow emanated from under the door. Draco heard faint sounds of banging and clanging as shadows passed to and fro, blocking the light.

"He's in there every night, Draco. For hours. He comes to bed as the sun rises, and he's always so agitated. Always ready to fight."

"Fight?"

"With words, darling. But…" her thoughts trailed off, her unspoken words causing anger to boil inside Draco's throat.

Suddenly, a loud boom shook through the house. Dust fell from the ceiling. The study door had flung open, revealing a dishevelled Lucius. In his hand, outlined by firelight, hung an axe. Narcissa and Draco jumped back, each reaching out for the other as they stepped out of sight.

"Damn, damn, _damn!_ " Lucius spat. The study door had slammed back shut. The pair on the stairs waited, before looking at each other. Draco could feel his mother's pulse, could see the fear in her eyes.

Narcissa came to live with them after that.

But, ever since that fateful night, Draco wanted nothing more than to break down the walls of his father's study. He wanted to rip it apart, every board and nail. His father spent his whole life consumed with darkness. Now, after everything he put Draco and Narcissa - and Scorpius and Astoria, to an extent - through, Lucius was at it again. The lies, the secrets, the hate. Fear and anger and pride.

He didn't see the pain he caused his wife and son. Or, Draco shuddered, maybe he did and he just didn't care. Draco couldn't pick what was worse.

So they stopped visiting. Eight years passed, Scorpius graduated from Hogwarts, Narcissa became a doting grandmother, Astoria finally felt welcomed in the family, and Draco slept through the night for the first time since his seventh year.

But there was always a question haunting Draco in the back of his mind… what was it this time? What had Lucius become so enamored with, he barely noticed his wife left him? What was so important in that blasted study that Lucius couldn't be bothered with his only grandchild refusing to speak his name? What gripped him so fully that nothing else mattered anymore?

Eight years it weighed on Draco. And now, finally, he was about to know. He was about to enter his late father's study for the first time in his life.

Lucius died alone. He died descending the stairs to his bloody sanctuary, slipping on the marble and cracking his head, neck, and back on the way down. The house elves tried, or at least they said they did. Draco didn't much mind. The Malfoy poison was finally gone. The Manor to be sold. And that _damned_ study was about to burn.

Figuratively, of course. Draco knew his mother couldn't make money off a house with a burned-out study. Whatever the horrors nestled within were, however, that was a different matter. Empty alcohol bottles and the like could be removed and burned in a safe location far away from the property.

Narcissa and Astoria were sorting through the kitchen, deciding if the old china was worth keeping or if both women could live without. Scorpius and his girlfriend were digging through Draco's old room, where books were stacked from floor to ceiling.

Andromeda, who reconnected with her sister after Narcissa left her husband, was tearing portraits of old, crusty Malfoys off the wall and getting into a fair few verbal spats. Draco was pleased to hear Aunt Andri was winning most of them.

Draco stared at the study door, his heart racing as he slowly slid the key into the lock. It clicked, once, twice, thrice… unlocked. How he had waited for this moment. Whatever was behind that door had kept his family from truly healing. Lucius's last-ditch effort to play on his principals.

The door swung open. Draco dropped to his knees.

"What…" he whispered, his eyes unable to focus on what he saw. It couldn't be, could it?

"Astoria!" Then he shouted for everyone else in his family. He just… he couldn't believe it. Torture devices or a Lord Voldemort shrine would have been better.

"Darling, what is it?" Astoria was there first, her petite hands gently wrapping around his arm in an attempt to pull him to his feet. But then her eyes caught sight of, well, _it_. She gasped. Her grip tightened.

And soon everyone was peering into the secret life of Lucius Malfoy

"Wow," Scorpius's girlfriend finally broke the silence as she stepped over the threshold and into the study. "This collection is big enough to rival my Grandad's."

"Rose…" Scorpius tentatively reached for the girl, but his eyes never left the mountains and mountains of Muggle artifacts. Children's toys and washing machines. Rubber ducks and cuckoo clocks. Dog leashes and coffee pots.

"What was he doing with all this?" Astoria asked, her hands still clenched around Draco's upper arm. "Surely he didn't…"

"No, dear. He wasn't interested in these things," Narcissa answered. "The Prophet said… I'd never put the two together…"

Everyone was slowly walking into the study now. Draco was still on his knees, unable to stand or speak. Astoria, bless her, stood right by him. But that didn't stop her from sending out a warning.

"Don't touch anything. There might still be traps."

Draco's head swam. For years after the war ended, the Prophet had kept reporting on how the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts unit at the Ministry kept finding faulty Muggle contraptions. How Muggles were being hurt by magicked appliances, like washing machines and coffee pots. Toys and cuckoo clocks. Dog leashes and rubber ducks. Every random object possible, really, much like the things piled against the walls and floors of Lucius Malfoy's study.

"Children died," Astoria said so only Draco could hear. He nodded, knowing full well that she too understood who was behind all those the illegal enchantments.

"But how?" Scorpius had turned to his parents. "How did he get these things? How did he get them, curse them, and get them back out into the hands of Muggles?"

"I-"

But there was a solid lump in Draco's throat.

"What do we do?" Scorpius looked like he might be sick.

"We destroy it," Narcissa said.

Andromeda did not like that though. "What? Just like that? Hide it away!?"

"No," Draco's mind snapped back to the present. Finally he stood, lacing his fingers through Astoria's. "We have to owl the Ministry. This is…"

"Despicable?" Rose asked.

"And deplorable."

"But the Malfoy name, Draco. We haven't been dragged through the muck in years! Do you really want to go through it all again," his mother implored.

"We've been through much worse. And I'd rather be upfront about something as _awful_ as this."

Narcissa nodded, though Draco could see in her eyes the dread of being top news once again. And it made his stomach boil with hatred, because somehow Lucius bloody Malfoy was still destroying his wife from beyond the grave.

That's when he noticed the pain in his son's eyes. The fear in Rose's face. The guilt in his aunt's. Draco was right; they must tell the Ministry, if not to save themselves from being linked to this horrendous discovery, then at least to protect an innocent Muggle from an untimely fate.

He sighed, pulled Astoria closer, and kissed her on the forehead. She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing slightly. He knew she was about to take charge.

"Let's get on that then. And we shouldn't stay in here much longer. Like I said, it is highly likely some of these things are still cursed. Come on now, I'll make us lunch while Draco contacts the Ministry."

They left the room one by one, solemnly. Only Narcissa paused to turn back and look at the destruction once more. Draco watched as his family made their way to the kitchen while he took the stairs. His mother's owl wouldn't be too far off; he'd just need to get to the third floor balcony to call for her.

It was there, reflecting quietly on his discovery, that Draco knew he had always, always, _always_ been right about his father.

Lucius Malfoy was not a good person.

You-Know-Who didn't have to sway Lucius at all during his two uprisings; Lucius wasn't thinking about the family name at all. It was merely the excuse to hide behind as his own vindictive and malicious mind calculated fiendish ways to destroy Muggles. Lucius was more than willing to do Voldemort's bidding on principle alone.

At least, Draco thought, he was doing much better. Scorpius was happy, healthy, and loved. Draco's wife was strong and supportive. Determined and driven. Draco himself was the best damn Healer St. Mungo's had on staff.

And Lucius was nothing now but dust.

It wasn't much, but it was something for Draco to cling to as he attached his letter to the Ministry. As the grey owl flew off to deliver the news, Draco felt lighter, because now he knew: The worst of it was over.


End file.
